 |
| Summer is a fleeting bastard. |
Hey, all you shiny campers,
I don't have any idea how we're here already.
Here at
The end.
The end.
Two little words so awesome at
the bottom of a manuscript,
yet, so not awesome at the completion of
a summer of Teachers Write.
*weeps a little*
But what is there to do but march forward?
It's been a busy summer for me. Busier and harder than I anticipated. I wasn't here as much as I wanted to be.
I didn't write as much as I wanted to write.
There are no redos.
Nothing to do but march forward.
I hope your writing went well.
I hope you had at least one moment when you surprised yourself.
One moment where you pushed yourself beyond where you thought you could.
One moment when you truly felt brave.
And now what?
How to keep going from here?
If you came here to TW simply to be a better writing teacher -- by the way, a truly commendable aim that makes me admire you deeply and wish there were more teachers JUST like you -- hopefully you have a brain (and computer) chock-full of ways to inspire your students. An idea of how to make writing more accessible, more compelling, and more clear. And a new-found empathy for student writers gained from walking the walk yourself.
But what if you came here hoping to write a book? To be a writer? And you only made it part of the way through?
What if you wrote less than you hoped?
What if you're stuck in the muck and mire of a muddy middle?
WHO IS GOING TO HELP ME IF I'M STUCK???
Um, did you hear me???
What if you're almost done and visions of querying agents or submitting to publishers are dancing like sugarplum fairies in your head?
And what if I write that query, and find the perfect agent, and he rejects me, and then she rejects me, and then ten more reject me after that??!?!?!!?
You just keep marching onward.
Rejections are battle scars. Rejection is the sand . . . that ultimately produces a pearl.
And, yes, writing can be a hard, doubt-filled, and solitary endeavor, but it can also be an inspiring one full of community and understanding. And first and foremost, I hope you have found that here.
Because that's what we are. We at Teachers Write are a community. Summer is over, but we're still here to help you, to answer your questions and cheer you on.
If you need us:
Tweet to us on twitter:
https://twitter.com/gaepol
https://twitter.com/KateMessner
https://twitter.com/JoKnowles
https://twitter.com/mentortexts
email me: g.polisner@gmail.com
and, don't forget:
The TW Facebook page
is open all year.
And we love to hear from you. We do. We love to hear the stories of success: the manuscripts worked on, or dare we say, finished, the agents reading partials and fulls. The lessons brought back to the classroom.
You know where to find us, and you know, my shiny campers, where to find me.
So, I wish you all a gloriously happy end of summer and a joyful, productive return back to school.
And now, since it's Friday Feedback, here's a small excerpt from the manuscript I just sold (!!!!).
What works for you? What doesn't? You know THE RULES.
(The following excerpt is from the perspective of my 17-year old main character, a boy name Klee, pronounced Clay.)
Sarah is singing. Singing, and crawling toward me on her knees.
Her voice is breathy and sweet.
“Sweet dreams till sun beams find you. . .”
It’s a hallucination, I think, but it seems real anyway, so I
wedge my hand under my thigh so I don’t reach out to her.
“Tell me your dreams, babe,” she says.
I shake my head and a crow lands on the back of Dr. Alvarez’s
chair, turns a beady eye at me and makes its way up the wall.
The crow is a trickster. I focus on Sarah instead.
“Sweet dreams that leave our
worries behind you.
But in your dreams, whatever
they be. . .
She moves slowly, on all fours, her dark hair falling over her
big blue eyes.
dream a little dream of me. .
.”
I squirm as she gets closer, squeeze my eyes shut tight so I don’t lose it. Sometimes,
all I have to do is look at her.
When she reaches where I sit, she slides her lips up my leg, her wide eyes watching me, her tongue tracing the front of my jeans.
When she reaches where I sit, she slides her lips up my leg, her wide eyes watching me, her tongue tracing the front of my jeans.
I make some noise, and she stops.
She sits back.
She sits back.
“What the fuck? Are you crying, Klee?”
I shake my head, but she disappears anyway.
***
Much love. Keep going!
gae
p.s. If you love what we do here at Teachers Write, please support us by buying and sharing our titles. If you haven't yet preordered THE MEMORY OF THINGS, I'd love you forever if you do. And don't forget my other books, THE PULL OF GRAVITY and THE SUMMER OF LETTING GO.
But also, don't forget the books of my guest authors: Nora Raleigh Baskin's NINE, TEN; Liza Wiemer's HELLO?, Amy Dominy's DIE FOR YOU, and Selene Castrovilla's SIGNS OF LIFE, etc. And if those books aren't right for your classroom, please check out their other titles, everything from truly awesome historical picture books to middle grade to more YA.
Gae
ReplyDeleteYay. I am FIRST. HA. this is creepy good. I want to know so many things about what is and is not real. Is this character a reliable narrator? Where will she take me? I need to know where we are in her journey. Well done. Good job on the sell. Thanks for your time too. And encouragement. And enthusiasm.
The end of my Drive short story. Part of a collection of stories about raising my boys...
ReplyDeleteOn December 2 Nonno died suddenly. He had surgery to remove a cancerous tumor from his bladder. It was an amazing success. The surgeon released him and said they were able to remove everything. He was cancer free. We were all together, my husband, children, mother in law and brother in laws to celebrate a belated Thanksgiving. We were truly thankful.
Shortly after dinner Nonno stood and felt dizzy. He collapsed. I thought first of my boys, downstairs playing with their uncle. I ran to them as my husband called an ambulance. I told them to stay downstairs. An ambulance arrived. I shielded them from the sights but not the sounds. I whisked them home not knowing I should have followed the ambulance and my husband to say goodbye. Instead I helped them brush and wash and get to bed. Everything's fine I'd said.
I did not know that dinner was the last time we would see him alive.
He died hours later at the hospital from a blood clot. The wake and funeral were difficult to explain. Jeremy was at first distant and then overwhelmed. His ten year old brother acted like a man, standing by his father’s side in his devastation. Jeremy placed a piece of his blankie in the casket so Nonno could sleep soundly. Everyone told him what a wonderful man his grandfather was and how lucky he was to have had him. He cried at the church and at night. Often Nonno was in his dreams and alive. I was asked a lot about forever and how long it was. Too long I thought.
So now do angels drive was insisting on an answer. He had picked Jeremy up from preschool and kindergarten. He had been his buddy always and forever was a long time.
“No, Jeremy, angels can’t drive. Nonno won’t come to pick you up anymore sweetheart. I’m sorry.”
“I know Mommy. I know.”
And I believe he did know. He knew the answer but could not trust that pain without checking and I knew the truth. I could reveal as much of it to him or as little.
Diane, what a beautiful poignant excerpt. I love the impact of the few short lines (Everything's fine, I'd said; Too long, I thought) agains the backdrop of such a tense upsetting scene. I love the line "Jeremy placed. . . so he could sleep soundly."
ReplyDeleteI am wondering, since it's the very end of your story, how the impact at the end might be if you tweaked and then reversed the last few lines (especially since, if I recall correctly, the story opens with Jeremy's own words/dialogue/question):
“No, Jeremy, angels can’t drive. Nonno won’t come to pick you up anymore sweetheart. I’m sorry.”
I answered firmly because I believed he needed to hear, that to trust the pain he needed to hear the truth for himself. I caught the flicker of a wince in the rear-view mirror.
"I know, Mommy. I know."
Not sure. Food for thought.
Keep going. And thanks for sharing all summer!
Gae,
ReplyDeleteThis is the third time I am trying to send this through. I hope this works!
Three things stand out for me in your piece:
I'm hooked as soon as read that Klee puts his/her(?) hand under his leg to resist engaging with Sarah.
The crow--ominous "harbinger" of death--"trickster," as Klee calls it, sets a dark tone.
And, finally, the setting. What were they doing in Dr. Alvarez' room alone?
All these questions and more make me want to keep reading!
Gae, thanks for your honesty and vulnerability that shows through in your writing and the way you care for us as TW campers. Take care.
Happy end of summer, Gloria! Have a great school year!
DeleteGae, your message helps everyone feel good for any progress they made this summer! Thanks for being such a great cheerleader! You, Kate, Jo, and the many excellent guest authors are truly an inspiration to us! Your time, effort, and talent are much appreciated by us all. Cheers to a great new school year teachers!
ReplyDeleteYour time, effort and talent are appreciated right back! Here's to a great year! <3
DeleteThank you, Gae, for all your support this summer! I've learned so much for my students and for myself and I know I have revisions galore ahead of me, but I can see how to do it now. I also thank you and all your fabulous guests for your time, patience and generousity. Writing is such a journey!!!
ReplyDeleteExciting excerpt. There's a lot going on! The sexuality made me uncomfortable, but I wonder if it's because Klee is so uncomfortable too. I found it interesting that Klee separated himself from it physically, with his hands, mentally, makes it discomfort to the scene.
The balance between the focus on the crow and his eye as a trickster and the black hair of Sarah and the focus on her eyes was interesting.
Your use of "What the fuck?" definitely breaks that dreamy spell and brings us all back to earth.
Also, thank you for the many links in this post to give us touchstones to go to when we're feeling we need support!
I love Teachers Write!
Thanks, Stefanie. I love it -- and the campers -- so very much too.
DeleteHappy writing!
Dear Gae, Thanks for all your sharing and cheerleading this summer. I can't believe this time is over :( I am thankful that there are still ways to stay in touch.
ReplyDeleteFirst, congrats on the sale of your manuscript. How exciting.
Second, what a descriptive piece of writing you shared. It gives me chills.
Third, I look forward to reading your new book when it comes out soon. Congrats already!
Fourth, here is just a snippet from a very, very early work in progress. It may be one I do for NaNoWriMo this year, not sure yet.
I killed my first person when I was thirteen. It wasn't an accident. I pointed my gun and pulled the trigger. It was the last time my step-father ever beat me or my mother.
The second person I killed was Chase-not literally- but with literature. Because I was the one who had to read him the letter that said his mama was dying of cancer.
Thanks again Gae for everything and have a great writing year!
Martha, love this already. Go, girl!
DeleteExciting characters, Martha, and intense situations.
DeleteThank you, Martha. Reading your work has been very motivating and inspirational. Best of luck with your writing. Your dedication, desire and talent are evident.
Thank you. Your words mean so much.
DeleteMartha,
DeleteThis is SO compelling and good. SO excited to read more.
I have a wonder about it. I wonder if, in this sentence: I pointed my gun and pulled the trigger... if you added one little verb/emotion e.g. winced or smiled or coughed or something (I pointed my gun, shut my eyes, and pulled the trigger..." "I pointed my gun, smiled, and pulled the trigger. .." See how those are so very different? and both add tension too) It could go so far in telling us more about your character in one little, or a few, words... I was thinking of Selene's pushing emotion exercise.
In any event, I need to know.
Keep writing!
I definitely want to keep reading, Martha. You have been a faithful contributor and commenter this summer. I learned much from you. I wish you a great year!
DeleteGloria
Thanks so much and yes I will keep those suggestions in mind I think they are very helpful.
DeleteThis comment has been removed by the author.
ReplyDeleteThank you Gae and all of the TW authors and coordinators for another remarkable summer of writing. Your talents and generosity are inspiring. I look forward to TW more an more each summer.
ReplyDeleteGae, I can't wait to read this one once it is out. I'm already hooked.
I wrote this piece a few years ago, before my dad passed this year. I want to share it because the essay embodies the experiences that I have at Torch Lake each summer and those are heightened by my TW involvement. Thank you for giving me an opportunity to share. I hope the link works.
https://mackaylogue.wordpress.com/2015/07/23/the-reflection-of-fireflies-on-a-life/
Susan, as I said in my comment... that piece is exquisite. You've left me with my heart squeezed beetles in my chest, and my cheeks soaked. Wow. Thanks for sharing.
DeleteThank you so much for your words, Gae. They mean the world to me. It occurs to me that you can probably relate in many ways, especially this year. My heart is with you. <3
DeleteThanks so much for all of your great insight. I commend you for the time you took to give such detailed feedback to everyone. Even though I didn't submit for Feedback Friday, I learned a tremendous amount from reading everyone else's. I plan to have a WIP worthy by next summer. This year has been filled with little writing projects for me. I read The Memory of Things and loved it. I have a blog post if you'd like to read my thoughts. I can tweet it too, if you'd like. Thanks again and can't wait to read your new book. You had me at "The crow is a trickster".
ReplyDeletehttp://onceuponashelf.blogspot.com/2016/08/the-memory-of-things-by-gae-polisher.html
Thank you, Tracy. So glad you loved it. It's a wonderful review. I hope you'll share it to amazon and B&N.com when the book releases.
ReplyDeleteI just added that trickster line in this morning when I was getting the post ready. Sometimes those magic lines come last minute, eh?
Happy writing!
Thanks so much for doing this Gae. The feedback that has been given has really pushed me to keep going!
ReplyDeleteSeveral months ago, the outside temperature dropped below zero. So did the temperature in our house. Daddy tucked Mabel and I in and stacked a few quilts on top of us.
“I hope this helps.” He said.
The cold wouldn’t allow us to speak.
After tucking us in, we heard footsteps down the hallway and down the staircase.
As I lay in bed, Mabel beside me, I stared up at the ceiling. I couldn’t move an inch. The glow of the candle quietly lit up our room. Staring intently at the ceiling, I dreamt of the sunshine and sand and water. Even though I had never been to the ocean, I had been to a lake a few years back when Momma was having a good day and Daddy was feeling a little happy about himself. That day at the lake with the sun shining down on us as we swam in the warm water. This is what I was thinking of as I lay on the cold sheet with Mabel snuggling up right next to me. She couldn’t help it as this was the only way for us to feel some warmth. Then I noticed something on the ceiling.
Frost.
Click.
I heard the door open and close, with another click.
Then, I saw blackness.
I woke up, the light streaming through the windows. I pulled the quilts off of me and felt warm.
Mabel was still in bed, asleep, with her feet hanging out of the quilts.
After stretching, I crept down the stairs, hoping they wouldn’t creak.
I stop when I hear Momma’s voice.
“How did it get so warm, Arch?”
I hear Momma conversing with Daddy. They must’ve been in the kitchen. I stay put and listen, sitting on the middle step of the staircase with my knees hugging my chest. Every once in awhile, I crane my neck over the banister so I could hear them but they couldn’t see me.
“I got somethin’ to keep the girls warm.”
“What was it? You know we ain’t got no money for coal.”
Silence.
“Go on an tell me.”
More silence.
You always tell the truth cause then I know where’d you comin’ from, Momma would always tell us. She said that telling the truth was a virtue and that you stand upright when you do this. Momma ain’t no liar.
John,
DeleteThis is so beautiful and authentic and moving… and I’m truly amazed at the growth I have seen in your writing. So visual and weighty. And, it would pop and shine even more, so gorgeously, if you would get your extra words, unneeded repetition, and unintended tense switches out of the way. ☺
I think I may have done one of these for you every week this summer, but only because I know you are getting close to submission and I really think if you can see where to pull those unneeded repeats or “self-conscious” passive verbs and/or transitions out, it will make a huge difference, easily. So last Friday of the TW summer, here you go, a superspeed flash edit. See if you can spot – but more importantly FEEL – the difference?
Several months ago, the outside temperature dropped below zero. So did the temperature in our house. Daddy tucked Mabel and me in and stacked a few quilts on top of us.
“I hope this helps,” he said.
The cold didn’t allow us to speak, so we listened wordlessly as his footsteps echoed down the hallway and down the stairs.
Mabel beside me, I stared up at the ceiling. I couldn’t move an inch. The glow of the candle quietly lit up our room. I dreamt of the sunshine and sand and water. Even though I had never been to the ocean, I had been to a lake a few years back when Momma was having a good day and Daddy was feeling a little happy about himself. That day at the lake, with the sun shining down on us as we swam in the warm water, this is what I was thinking of as I lay on the cold sheet, Mabel snuggled up right next to me. She couldn’t help it. This was the only way for us to feel some warmth.
Then I noticed something.
Frost.
On the ceiling.
Click.
I heard the door open and close, with another click.
Then, blackness.
I woke up, the light streaming through the windows. I pushed the quilts off of me and felt warm.
Mabel was still in bed, asleep, with her feet hanging off the side.
I stretched, tiptoed out of bed, and crept down the stairs, hoping they wouldn’t creak.
I stopped when I heard Momma’s voice.
“How did it get so warm, Arch?”
Momma was talking with Daddy. They must’ve been in the kitchen. I stayed put and listened, sitting on the middle step of the staircase with my knees hugged to my chest. Every once in awhile, I craned my neck over the banister, so I could hear them better, but they couldn’t see me.
“I got somethin’ to keep the girls warm.”
“What was it? You know we ain’t got no money for coal.”
Silence.
“Go on an tell me.”
More silence.
You always tell the truth cause then I know where you comin’ from, Momma would always tell us. She said that telling the truth was a virtue and that you stand upright when you do this. Momma ain’t no liar.
Great stuff. Keep going! <3
What a gargantuan job you have of responding to our Friday submissions! Thank you for your insight and thoughtfulness. I learned a great deal from your responses to me, as well as those I read of others.
ReplyDeleteAnother entry from my non-fiction WIP:
From her first stop in Chicago for basic training, she was off to see the world...and I quickly watched my cousin who once built forts with me and was my first student grow into an amazing person. She pinballed around the US for training of various kinds and then out into the whole wide world for her WestPac tours, when I held my breath and prayed that she’d be able to fulfill her missions safely. She did so, amazingly well - as noted by her superiors and peers alike. I admired her so much for her determination and commitment as a sailor. I never could’ve survived her conditions, but she thrived in challenging situations to reach her dreams. I was lucky enough to be in California when she returned from her first tour aboard the USS Abraham Lincoln, the tour when she was in the Persian Gulf when we went on the offensive, and I was terrified for her. I knew then that she had more grit than I’d ever given her credit for - that she was a different caliber than most people I knew. She remained on the boat for nearly nine months, and my heart overflowed when the Lincoln rounded the bay in San Diego, sailors flanking all sides in their dress whites was a vision to behold. In her way, Rachael refused to dress for the statement moment - she was busy working, she explained later when we finally found her. As much as I always miss her when she’s gone, even today in her post-Navy life, I will forever hold her tight in my heart for not being afraid of change and for setting new goals to conquer. I know there is nothing that girl can’t do.
What an intriguing excerpt, Angela. I want to know so much more -- which is a good thing. You've done a nice job sharing admiration for this cousin of yours.
DeleteI wonder if you could even push it more (our interest is there) by showing even more (vs. telling). For example: I'd love to see your cousin too when that boat pulled in -- not just the sailors in white flanking all sides -- but where Rachel was (missing? because she was below deck working? did your heart stop thinking maybe she was not on board? Or was she there wearing something more practical because dress whites wouldnt do for the work she was doing?I would love to SEE that scene, and pushing emotion and action like that would bring us in even more!
Great work! Keep going.
I'm late to submitting today, so I understand if it doesn't receive feedback. I had promised myself that I would submit today.
ReplyDelete5:30 a.m.--First day of School
"Make sure to leave the breakfast dishes soaking if you don't have time to wash them."
"Oh, and make sure Martin changes his underwear."
"One more thing--Make sure that broodin' you're doin' don't take up your whole day, girl. It's not good for your soul."
Danae's mother's rushed reminders did nothing to move her. After she heard the key turn in the lock, Danae heard one more "Make sure...."
"Make sure you don't let anybody else die on your watch." That, she knew, was her soul--what was left of it--talking.
Thanks again!
Gloria, so glad you kept your promise to yourself!
ReplyDeleteAn intriguing little excerpt and especially that last sentence! YES, I want to know more...
I wonder if there are tiny minimal ways you could "push emotion" (I've been thinking about this with my own work since Selene talked about it last week) here so that we get to see Danae's reaction to a few of the reminders. So that we feel with her, and some more emotion builds leaving us walloped by that last line. So for example only, does the scene change at all if one little reaction is added, eg.:
5:30 a.m.--First day of School
"Make sure to leave the breakfast dishes soaking if you don't have time to wash them."
"Oh, and make sure Martin changes his underwear."
Danae winced at her mother's barked list.
"One more thing--Make sure that broodin' you're doin' don't take up your whole day, girl. It's not good for your soul."
The rushed reminders did nothing to move her. After she heard the key turn in the lock, Danae heard one more "Make sure...."
"Make sure you don't let anybody else die on your watch." That, she knew, was her soul--what was left of it--talking.
I dunno. Food for thought, but I love where you are going here!
Keep going. :)
Thanks, Gae! I like your suggestions! I will make the changes.
ReplyDeleteDear Gae -
ReplyDeleteThank you for all your help this summer. I adore you. And I'm anxiously waiting for my copy to arrive. And I'm going to try to bring it to you to sign in Westport. I am very pleased with this plan.
I've been on the road all day and the internet is flaky, so I'm trying a second time to post this. My apologies for what might happen.
This is where I think I might have figured out why I'm writing this book. Or, perhaps, who I'm writing this book about.
A lush woman identified as Lucy’s mother, and thus our hostess this evening, had too much to drink. She pinched a young man’s butt as he passes, and roars with laughter when he startles.
“Mom, please,” The boring young man from earlier intervened. “Hugo hates it when you bug his boyfriends.”
“Have a sense of humor, Marc!” She pats his cheek. “Besides, have you seen John’s ass? It just doesn’t quit. No wonder Hugo wants to hump him.” She chortled.
John, despite being across the room, turned bright red. Poor guy. I hoped this wasn’t his first night hanging with his boyfriend’s family.
“Now you ought to be dancing!”
I didn’t realize that she was talking to me until she was breathing beer and cigarettes into my face.
“Excuse me?” I gripped the glass harder.
She clutched my arm. “You should be dancing! A pretty girl like you, a lovely night, a great band! Here, Marc! Come dance with, what was your name again? Darla?”
“Darcy.”
“Darcy. That’s a terrible name for a girl. What were your parents thinking?” She tries to pass my arm to Marc. “Marc, come dance with Darcy. She’s lonely.”
“Excuse me,” I pulled my arm back. “I’m not lonely, thank you. I’m fine.”
“A pretty girl like you shouldn’t be shy! Here’s my son, Marc.” She leaned in close and I got the full effect of her aging cleavage packed into a push up bra, as she whispered, “He’s a hottie, if I do say so myself.”
The son humored her. “Would you like to dance?”
“No, thank you. I don’t dance.” I was desperate for fresh air.
“Marc won’t bite!” She cackled at me.
The roof deck was packed with people and I could tell my claustrophobia was going to kick in. I felt dizzy. “You have to excuse me,” I nodded to Marc and wove my way through the crowd, past the blushing John (maybe he just had a sunburn) to the stairs.
The street level deck was blissfully empty. I sat down in a Adirondack chair and wished I’d stayed home with Henry’s parents. And the baby. It would have felt pathetic, but it wouldn’t have triggered an episode. My hand shook as I lifted the seltzer bottle. Freaking anxiety. I took a sip and waited for the adrenaline to seep away.
Terry, thanks for all the nice words. . .
DeleteThis excerpt is super colorful and interesting and I'm curious to learn more about the story... I don't know where this scene falls -- early or middle, etc. -- and I'm not sure who your MC is from it --Darcy? If so, I like her. And the last few sentences make me truly wonder what is going on.
Mostly I was relieved when I realized this wasn't about Owen. I panicked at first! ;P
Keep going!
Crap. That's way too long. I'm sorry. Internet dumped me 3 times and I didn't get a good idea of how excessive I was. (arg)
ReplyDeleteAnd I also lost my comment about how massively uncomfortable Klee's discomfort made me. Love.
ReplyDeleteHi Gae- Thanks again for all your inspiration, efforts, and time this summer! Congrats on your new sold manuscript! I'm immediately intrigued by your excerpt; I found it edgy and haunting and I'm left wanting more. I'll be keeping an eye out for it in the future! :)
ReplyDeleteI'm away for a bit on vacation and don't have access to my WIP (the downside of Scrivener vs. google docs) so won't share tonight. It's also late.
I enjoyed reading everyone else's writing this summer. I hope to see continuations or revisions or even brand new pieces from everyone next year. Good luck! Happy New Year!
--Jen
Thanks, Jen!
ReplyDeleteHappy back to school and keep writing.